Death

Death

A Poem by CIR

To what do I owe the pleasure


Of this bleak and bitter end


A sleep no man can cure


Though with malice one can send


Deserved of the wicked


But inflicted on the pure


No reaper shall be tricked


And why I am not sure


Welcomed by the suffering


Though feared by the young


The gates you are now entering


With humble heads all hung


A heart is pierced by bitter steel


Death, the wound no one shall heal

© 2015 CIR


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Added on February 11, 2015
Last Updated on February 11, 2015
Tags: #death, #sonnet, #life

Author

CIR
CIR

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